


To Marry a Duke

by Sal, salsgal



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Harlequin, Harlequin Week challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sal/pseuds/Sal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/salsgal/pseuds/salsgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the sake of his family, Meredith McKay disguises himself as a woman and marries Duke John Sheppard. But he soon finds out that falling in love with a husband that never wanted a wife to begin with is a recipe for disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Marry a Duke

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the undermistletoe Harlequin Week challenge, and co-written with my wife. We've taken liberties, because, well, this is a Harlequin challenge. This thing is shmoopy. ;) Fic based on the novel The Inconvenient Duchess by Christine Merrill.

"We've been over this, John. You simply cannot remain a widower. Jacob needs a mother, you need a wife, and the estate needs a woman's touch. Heaven knows I won't be around much longer to keep things in order here."

John Sheppard, the sixteenth Duke of Lantea, sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He'd heard his mother insist she was 'dying' often enough that it no longer carried much weight with him. "Mother, I'm…"

"Hush, young man. I'm not finished," his mother chided him, shifting in her sick bed, and pinning him with a sharp gaze. "Whether you want to marry or not, you will, for the sake of this family and for the sake of your son. There'll be no more discussion about it. I've arranged things with and old school friend of mine. She has been, for the last twelve years, a companion to a young girl. The girl is near to your age, and will make a suitable bride."

John stared at his mother until he realized his mouth was hanging open. "What? Without even… _mother_!"

"Oh, stop it, John. I arranged for your marriage to Elizabeth, and you were perfectly happy with her. One would think that by now, you would have learned to trust my judgment in such matters. I've let you wait, assuming you would make a choice in your own good time. But I have no time. No time to let you handle things. Certainly no time to let you wallow in grief for losses and mistakes that are five years past." Beatrice waved one hand dismissively at her only son. "Now, as I said, Meredith McKay will be here by the end of the month. Barring any horrid disfigurements or unconscionable social deficiencies on her part, you'll take her to wife as soon as is respectably possible, and put this old woman's mind at ease."

John sighed again. "Mother, you're no more ‘old’ than I am. Christ…" His mother's glare brought him up short, and he frowned before inclining his head. "I'm sorry. Mother, I really don't see the point of…"

"No, of course you don't," his mother said, cutting him off neatly, "which is why I have intervened on your behalf. I certainly won’t insist that you marry her if she is truly unsuitable. Surely you know that I would never saddle you with a wife who is unattractive, uncivilized or, God forbid, _stupid_. You’ll not decide to turn her away before meeting her. If she is reasonably attractive and not in poor health, then she will be sufficient to make you a good wife, and Jacob a good mother."

John glared at her, lips set tightly together, but she was not to be moved.

"You’ve yet to find a suitable woman among the pretty young things that flit about, trying to catch your attention,” she continued, eyeing him closely. “And I do _hope_ you haven’t set your eye on a married woman. Have you?"

"Good God, Mother."

Beatrice simply pinned him with her keen gaze. "You have no reason at all to avoid this meeting, John, save your own bitterness and pride. One would hope that you could put both aside long enough to find your son a decent mother. That done, you’re welcome to go right back to your senseless moping, locked day in and day out in that stuffy old study."

"You seriously believe that I should marry some girl you've sent for, on the basis of your casual correspondence with an old acquaintance?"

Beatrice struggled upright, pushing weakly against the pillows, staring down her son with a fierce, sharp gaze that seemed out of place against the pale, almost waxy cast of her face. "If I had more time, and if you weren't so damned stubborn, I'd have insisted that you meet and consider all of the eligible, acceptable young women in the Duchy by now. If you had any sense at all, you’d _have_ a wife and a mother for your son. I no longer have the time to wait for you to decide on your own. This is the most expedient manner in which this matter can be suitably handled."

The effort of her outburst was too much, and she began to cough. John frowned at the heavy, racking sound, wet and thick in her lungs. The fit was long and fierce, and John hurried to support her as a maid hurried in with a basin to hold before her. John felt his blood run cold as he saw the flecks of blood in the phlegm his mother spat. Once the fit passed, the maid slipped out with the basin, and John helped his mother to lie back again.

"Mother…" his voice was unsteady as he reached to take her hand, realizing that she was truly ill, that this wasn’t another of her phantom illnesses concocted to help her get her way.

When she tightened her fingers around his, it was with an alarmingly weak grip, and he was shocked to realize just how fragile her hand seemed in his. Her voice, when she spoke, was but a breathless rasp, all she could manage in the wake of such a powerful paroxysm.

“Meet the girl, John. Give her a chance. Please. I want to die knowing that you and Jacob are not alone.”

As he left her to rest, John couldn’t help but think that the small, frail woman with whom he’d just been speaking couldn’t possibly be his mother – his strong, demanding, controlling mother. To see her reduced to begging… he shook his head and sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He had agreed to meet the girl – Meredith McKay – and consider her as a possible wife. It was the least he could do, to ease his mother’s mind. In all likelihood, Beatrice wouldn’t live to see what choice he made, anyway.

That thought chilled him to the bone, and he hurried to his study to immerse himself in his books and wine, hoping to put such awful thoughts from his mind.

***

"Oh, God, Mer. What am I going to do?"

Meredith looked up from his book, blinking, as his younger sister Jeannie threw herself down on the divan in front of the fireplace.

“Do?” he asked, frowning in confusion. “What have you gotten yourself into, now?”

“Father has betrothed me!” Jeannie wailed, turning tear-swollen eyes to him. “To Acastas _Kolya_!”

Meredith’s book dropped from fingers gone suddenly cold, the sensation paired with a chill that darted up and down his spine and settled in his belly. “You can’t be serious,” he insisted, unwilling to believe that their father would promise Jeannie to such a man. Kolya’s reputation was as poor as the McKay family coffers, and the thought of his sister in the man’s grasp made Meredith feel ill.

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this!” Jeannie pushed to her feet, only to step closer to her brother and drop to her knees, reaching to clasp his hands. “Please, Mer, you have to do something. He’ll never let me continue my education! I want to go to University, not become the kept wife of a heartless man. I’ll be miserable, and he won’t _care_! You _have_ to help me!”

Meredith swallowed back the nausea swimming in his belly. "I can't promise anything, Jeannie,” he said, trying to comfort her, “but I'll see what I can do."

***

"There is nothing more I can do," Richard McKay said quietly, studying his only son. "I could not afford to send you to university, let alone send your sister. I'm dying, Meredith. Our lands have wasted away, along with our funds. We are lucky Kolya will take Jeannie without a dowry."

"There has to be another way, father," Meredith insisted almost desperately. "I just need more time. You have to stall him. Give me time to find another way. Please."

Richard sighed tiredly, and then nodded. "Very well. You have a month, Meredith. I can stall Kolya that long, but no longer. I will see your sister taken care of before I die."

Meredith nodded, swallowing hard. "I'll find a way, father," he replied. "A wealthy wife, something."

 _Anything_ , he thought, as he left his father to rest. Even if he had to sell himself, he'd save his sister from being wed to Kolya.

Lost in thought, Meredith startled when a hand touched his arm. Blinking, he stared at Jeannie's governess for a moment, before blowing out a little breath. "God, Teyla. You startled me."

Teyla studied Meredith for a moment, her expression serious. "I could not help but overhear your conversation," she said quietly. "I too wish to see Jeannie happy and not chained to a man like Kolya."

Meredith swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know what to do, Teyla," he says quietly. "I have to do _something_. God, I'll do anything. I can't let her be married to that man."

Teyla studied Meredith speculatively for a long moment before nodding. "Perhaps there is something," she said at last. "I was going to suggest this for Jeannie, but I fear she would still be unhappy. However, were you to go… Yes; perhaps, Gods willing, it would work."

Meredith furrowed his brows in puzzlement, gazing at Teyla. "Go? Where? What do you mean, Teyla?"

Lips slightly pursed. Teyla studied Meredith again. "I have written to an old school friend of mine," she replied. "She has a widowed son, who needs a mother for his young son."

Meredith blinked, startled. "But how could I? I mean, um, he'd…"

Teyla shook her head. "It is said that since the death of his wife, Elizabeth, the Duke shows no interest in women. You should be perfectly safe, Meredith. It is but one option, and it is, of course, up to you."

Meredith ducked his head forward, considering for a long moment. Pose as a woman? Marry a Duke? A Duke, for God's sake! But then, surely, he'd have the funds to send Jeannie to University, and to restore his family’s land. Swallowing hard, he lifted his gaze to meet Teyla's. "I'll do it," he said softly, giving a little nod.

Teyla nodded as well, and motioned for Meredith to follow her. "Come, then. We have much to do to prepare."

***

Meredith found himself standing on the doorstep of Pegasus House a scarce handful of nights later, in the midst of a torrential rain. Despite the weather, he found himself hesitant to reach for the heavy brass knocker, for he knew he must look dreadful.

His fingers were shaking with the cold, despite his mud-spattered traveling gloves. His hair, blond curls that were as long as a woman’s, was plastered to his head, half fallen out of the neat up-do with which he’d started. His shawl and many-layered traveling dress were drenched through with rain and hopelessly stained with mud, clinging uncomfortably to his skin and chafing whenever he moved. He thanked God that he’d chosen to wear a pair of his own heavy boots instead of a lady’s more delicate shoes, for at least his feet weren’t frozen through like his fingers, ears and nose.

But knock he must, disgraceful appearance notwithstanding. He was already late arriving, never mind that the awful weather was hardly his fault, and he could hardly explain to his future husband that he hadn’t the money to hire a carriage.

There was such a pause after he knocked that he began to wonder if he’d been heard. Then he began to wonder if perhaps he was being ignored, if the Duke had changed his mind and was going to refuse him entrance. By the time the butler opened the door – a mere crack against the wind and rain – Meredith was imagining a horrible death as he tried to make his way back to the inn from which he’d struck out several hours earlier.

The butler eyed him speculatively, and Meredith found that his fears of being turned away weren’t fading. He opened his mouth to apologise, to beg shelter from the storm, but stopped himself as Teyla’s parting words sounded in his mind: _Do not allow appearances to defeat your purpose. You are nobility, born and bred to it. Act the part, and others will treat you accordingly._

Taking a deep, bolstering breath, Meredith stood up straighter and looked the butler square in the eyes. When he spoke, raising his voice over the sound of the rain, he did his best to make his tone match the person he was supposed to be. "Lady Meredith McKay. I believe I am expected."

The butler was, perhaps understandably, speculative about Meredith’s identity, but in the end he led his sopping charge to the parlor. Meredith followed, wincing at every squelching footstep, every wet and muddy print he left in his wake. The butler appeared equally unimpressed, glancing with distaste at Meredith’s wet, muddy clothes more than once.

The parlor itself was warm, thanks to the fire burning almost cheerily in the stonework fireplace, and Meredith crossed the room with a silent prayer of thanks, pulling off his wet gloves to hold his hands to the warmth of the flames.

Behind him, the butler cleared his throat. “If my lady will wait here, I shall inform His Grace the Duke of your arrival.”

Meredith turned quickly, ashamed of his lack of manners. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Oh dear – what else was he supposed to say?

Luckily, that seemed enough to satisfy the butler, and the man bowed stiffly before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Meredith sighed and closed his eyes, wondering for not the first time what on earth he thought he was doing.

He turned back to the fireplace, trying to rub feeling back into his chilled hands. As the warmth started to seep through his ruined clothing, he began to shiver and had to tighten his jaw to keep his teeth from clicking together. He shed his sodden shawl, dropping it on the hearth atop his discarded gloves, and was debating the wisdom of removing his boots when he heard a noise behind him.

Startled, he straightened and turned, expecting to see the Duke and bracing himself for the man’s disdain at his appearance. Instead, he found himself looking at a small boy, surely no more than five or six years old, with a thick shock of dark, unruly hair and sleepy green eyes. Too surprised to speak, he just stared.

The boy stared back, and then lifted one small fist to rub at his eyes. “Are you my new mommy?” he asked in a soft, sleepy voice, and Meredith found himself almost instantly enchanted.

Enchantment, however, wasn’t enough to over-ride his awkwardness. “Ah… well, I… I suppose that’s up to your father. Uhm. Are… are you Jacob?” Oh, lovely. He _hoped_ this was Jacob.

The boy nodded, and came forward a few steps, clutching his dressing robe closed with one small hand. “Uh huh. Jacob John Sheppard. My daddy’s the Duke.” He extended his un-occupied hand as he looked up at Meredith with those sleepy eyes.

Meredith blinked down at him – at Jacob, he corrected himself; best to start thinking of the child by name – and reached to take the offered hand. “L… Lady Meredith McKay,” he said in reply. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Jacob.”

Jacob shook his hand very carefully, standing up as tall as he could and trying to look as grown up as possible. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, my lady,” he said, and then his eyes got wide and his oh-so-grown-up expression dissolved into delighted, childish giggles. “There’s _mud_ on your face!”

“What?” Meredith straightened, one hand coming up to wipe at his still-stinging cheeks. “Mud? Oh dear… well, surely it isn’t as funny as all _that_!” He frowned in embarrassment as little Jacob giggled helplessly.

“Jacob, that’s enough of that. You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Both Jacob and Meredith quickly turned towards the parlor door, and Jacob gave a delighted squeal before darting across the room. “Daddy!”

Daddy? Meredith’s eyes widened and his mouth went dry. This was the Duke? This tall, slender man with the same dark, unruly hair and jade green eyes as his son, this was the man Meredith was to marry?

His Grace, the Duke of Lantea, scooped up his son with an indulgent smile, and spoke quietly to the boy before kissing the crown of his head and setting him down, shooing him off to bed. Then he turned to his guest and stepped further into the parlor. “My Lady, I apologise. He’s not supposed to be up and about at this time of night. Ah…” He cleared his throat and reached for Meredith’s hand, bending neatly at the waist to brush a light kiss to his knuckles. “Welcome to Pegasus House, my Lady. I’m John Sheppard, Duke of Lantea.”

Meredith blinked owlishly, fully aware of what a miserable sight he presented in his ruined, dripping clothes. His knuckles burned where the Duke’s lips had touched. He licked his lips to moisten them, opened his mouth to introduce himself in return… and _sneezed_ , barely turning his head aside in time to avoid spraying the Duke with more than rainwater. Feeling his face flush with embarrassment, he was nevertheless unable to stop three more sneezes from pushing free. When he finally stopped, he looked up with even wider eyes, utterly humiliated. “I… I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” he began, but John held up a hand to stop him.

“Please, don’t apologise. _I’m_ sorry, for leaving you standing here in wet clothes. You must be chilled right through. Bates!” He raised his voice at the last, and almost instantly the butler appeared at the doorway. “Bates, build up the fire in Lady Meredith’s rooms and send tea up as well.”

The butler inclined his head in acknowledgement and then disappeared again, and John turned back to Meredith, who was still just standing there, blushing furiously and now fighting back another volley of sneezes. Offering his arm, the Duke nodded towards the door. “Please, let me see you to your suite. We can talk about all of this in the morning.”

Meredith could only nod and take the offered arm. What a miserable first impression he was making! He fumbled for his handkerchief – also soaked through from the rain – and managed to free it just in time to catch another four sneezes. This time, when he looked up, the Duke was holding out a clean, dry handkerchief for him to take.

“I… oh. Thank you, Your Grace. I’m so sorry. This isn’t at all how I imagined meeting you, and I’m well aware that I’m not making a pleasant first impression.” He took the offered handkerchief and touched it to his nose, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t start _running_ before he was safely alone in his borrowed rooms. “I do hope you’ll overlook this, ah, unfortunate meeting in the morning and allow me to try again. This really isn’t my best side, after all, and I’m not usually this tongue tied. I… ah. Sorry. Ahem.” He cleared his throat softly. “I also tend to ramble on a touch when I’m nervous. Not, not that you particularly make me nervous, it’s just the, uh, situation and you are a Duke, and I… ahm.”

John led his charge up a curving flight of stairs towards the guest wing, and fought back an amused smile as Meredith rambled on and on. “My Lady, I assure you, I won’t hold this evening’s meeting against you. You’ll feel much better once you’re warm and dry and have gotten some rest. We’ll start over in the morning, though I warn you, Jacob is up with the sun and is likely to want to share his breakfast with you.”

Sharing breakfast with a five-year-old, Meredith reflected as he sipped hot tea in front of the fireplace, bundled up in a clean nightdress and a thick, warm dressing robe, couldn’t possibly be more difficult than sharing breakfast with the boy’s father. He hadn’t counted on this… hadn’t expected to find His Grace, the Duke so _devastatingly_ attractive. His husband-to-be was a handsome, handsome man, and based on their interaction so far, he seemed to also be a kind and gentle man. How was Meredith supposed to keep his emotional distance _now_?

More importantly, how could he erase their first meeting from His Grace’s memory? Meredith groaned, covering his face with one hand. He couldn’t believe he had _sneezed_ on the man. Twice!

He finished his tea in and about several more sneezing fits, and finally crawled into bed. As he pulled the down coverlet up to his chin, he sent up a silent prayer that the morning would be better. It certainly couldn’t be _worse_.

***

Sprawled in a chair before the fireplace in his rooms, John peered into his glass of brandy, musing on the young woman just down the hallway. His mother had mentioned her family had fallen on hard times, but he hadn’t realized the girl would be forced to walk all the way here. The poor thing had been damn near blue from the cold, and all that sneezing... Worry niggled at John, and he hoped she wasn’t coming down with a chill.

Leaning to toss another log on the fire, John was forced to concede that his mother had been right on one thing; Jacob did need a mother. This evening had been the first time the boy had laughed since his grandmother had died a week previous, and even though it had been at Lady Meredith’s expense, she hadn’t snapped at the boy. That was a good sign, at least. Sighing, John drained his glass, setting it aside and pushing to his feet. He’d see how things went in the morning, before making any decisions.

***

The rain was still falling in the morning, and Meredith woke from a restless sleep to find that the fire had been built up and clean, dry clothes had been set out for him. Next to the clothing was a stack of soft, clean handkerchiefs. As he tucked them carefully into pockets and nooks, Mer couldn’t help but smile a little. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

That thought lasted barely past his first few steps out of his suite. His nose was running, his head was aching, and every sneeze only made the pounding worse. He closed the door behind him, and before he could even fully turn around, a small typhoon slammed into him, attaching itself to his skirt-entangled legs.

“Lady Mer! It’s mornin’ time! Come have breakfast with me! Pleeeeeease?”

Hurricane Jacob looked up at him with a big, happy smile, and Mer’s scolding words melted away. It was impossible to be angry with the boy! He sniffed, pulled out one of the handkerchiefs, and tried to quell a sneeze. “Breakfast sounds _wonderful_. Lead the way, Lord Jacob.”

It was a bit of a challenge, keeping up with Jacob as the boy bounced down corridor and staircase, but he managed it with only two calls to “Slow down, please! Jacob! Come back here!” Their destination turned out to be a small, cosy dining room rather than the large, formal space, and Jacob made a show of pulling Meredith’s chair out for him before scrambling up into his own favourite chair. Mer, in turn, made a show of thanking him for being such a gentleman and then spent his first cup of breakfast tea wondering from where on earth he was getting this odd ability to interact with his future step-son. It wasn’t as if he’d spent any time around children, and his skills with people were less than stellar.

Jacob, he found, could out-talk him. He had never met anyone with that ability, before, and it left him a little stunned and a little amused. The boy went on at length about his daddy’s horses and how they were the fastest horses in all of Christendom and Jacob was going to have his own horse for his next birthday and daddy’s favourite horse was called Atlantis and did Lady Mer know how to ride? And would she take him riding some time, since daddy didn’t have time to take him riding very often but he really, really loved to ride horses and daddy said he could have his very own horse for his next birthday and what kind of books did Lady Mer like to read?

Meredith followed most of the conversation, answering every question he was asked in between sneezes, with as much detail as he could give before Jacob took off talking again. The sudden change in topic at the end threw him, and he couldn’t help but smile at the little cherub who was already burrowing into his heart.

“I like to read many different kinds of books,” he told Jacob with a smile. “Books are my very favourite thing, just like horses are _your_ favourite thing.”

“Ooooh... do you have lots of books?” Jacob’s eyes went wide and he pressed his small hands together in delight. “Daddy has lots of books, too, and if I’m very good and very careful, sometimes he lets me read them. Some of them are too hard for me, though. Maybe could you read to me, sometimes?”

The question again threw Meredith, and he blinked twice in surprise. He hadn’t read to anyone since Jeannie was Jacob’s age, but... He found himself smiling again, and nodding as he reached for his teacup. “I would love to read to you, Jacob. Perhaps we can have reading time every day, just you and me, hm?”

The bright smile on Jacob’s face was all the answer he needed.

***

John unobtrusively leaned against the doorframe of the small dining room, watching his son and Lady Meredith at the table. He wasn’t surprised to see his son out-talking her, but he was surprised to see that Meredith made an attempt to answer each of the boy’s questions.

As John watched, he found his gaze drifting from his son to linger on Meredith. She certainly wasn’t a beauty as Elizabeth had been, but nonetheless, there was something very appealing about Meredith’s pale little face. Her lashes were astoundingly long, and her eyes were a vivid blue. Her lips weren’t as full as some ladies’ were, but the crooked cast to them was rather endearing.

John shook his head slightly, wholly surprised to feel a low burn spreading through his gut. He wasn’t usually attracted to women. Elizabeth had looked the other way when he’d indulged in the occasional indiscretion, as long as he came to her bed often enough to keep her happy. No, Meredith was no Elizabeth, but John found himself suddenly wondering how she’d feel underneath him, those blue eyes widening in startled pleasure.

Shifting his feet, John blew out a soft breath and turned his attention back to the pair at the table, watching Meredith smile at Jacob. _This is why you’re going to marry her_ , he told himself sternly. _She’ll be a good mother for Jacob, and a suitable wife for social occasions. Keep your hands off her, Sheppard. You don’t need to be responsible for the death of another woman in childbirth._

Setting his jaw, John nodded slightly to himself, and then pushed away from the doorframe to retreat to his study. After breakfast, he’d give Meredith his offer and send for the priest.

***

The one detail that stood out in Meredith’s memory about the whirl and rush of his wedding was the expression on John’s face when he slipped to one knee and haltingly, quietly proposed. It was a technicality – the banns had been read two weeks before, in anticipation of the upcoming marriage – but not something the Duke was willing to forego.

The expression on his face, though, was neither happy nor sad, neither nervous nor self-assured, neither pleased nor displeased, but instead a combination of a myriad of complex emotions that Meredith couldn’t even _begin_ to decipher.

There had been little fanfare to the whole ordeal, really. After breakfast, Meredith had found himself summoned to His Grace’s study, where John politely inquired after his health and Mer tried not to sneeze on the poor man again. After several minutes of awkward small talk, John had knelt at Meredith’s feet and forced himself to meet Meredith’s gaze as he asked for his hand – thinking, of course, that he was asking for _her_ hand.

Meredith didn’t even remember saying yes, though of course he must have, because it was only an hour later that he and John were wed, quietly, in the sun room which had been Beatrice’s favourite. Little Jacob had held the rings. Bates and one of the house women, a pretty young lass named Samantha, had served as witnesses. John and Meredith had each recited their vows, had each received their rings, and when the priest pronounced them husband and wife, John’s brief, chaste kiss left Meredith feeling at once flushed with heat and chilled with emptiness.

After the ceremony, John had disappeared back into his study, leaving his new bride confused, alone and increasingly miserable. Mer spent the evening in the parlour again, curled up in a chair before the fireplace with a cup of tea and his handkerchiefs, wondering if His Grace would come to fetch his wife before retiring for the night.

He fell asleep in the chair, and when he woke, several hours later, still in the same spot, he gave up and bestirred himself to climb the stairs and go to bed in the suite he’d been given the night before.

It was best, he told himself as he slipped under the down coverlet and tried to get warm. It was best if he didn’t get close to the Duke. He certainly couldn’t ever _sleep_ with the man, but he had hoped for a bit of companionship, at least.

No, he told himself again, this way was better.

He wondered, as he dozed into a restless, uneasy sleep, if he’d eventually convince himself that it was true.

***

As the days turned to weeks, Meredith found himself growing increasingly unhappy with life at Pegasus house. His husband seemed to have no time for him at all. John spent most of his time in his study with the door closed, and while he had never become _angry_ with Meredith for intruding into that personal sanctum, he had made it quite clear that when he was there, he did _not_ wish to be disturbed save for emergencies.

The only times that Meredith actually _saw_ his husband were at supper and on the rare occasion that they visited with guests. There were the occasional inadvertent meetings in this corridor or that, and twice John came by Jacob’s bedroom to see his son put to bed as Mer was reading the boy’s bedtime story, but such occasions were few and far between.

It wasn’t that John was unkind or cold towards his wife; far from it, he was very carefully kind, gentle and even friendly. When they spoke at the supper table, John appeared to be relaxed and at ease. He smiled, but it never reached his eyes. He kissed the back of Meredith’s hand, or occasionally his cheek, but that was the full extent of their physical contact.

Those small gifts only served to make Meredith yearn for more time with the Duke. He found himself wandering the corridors in hopes of running into John, and he spent his evenings in the library hoping that John might come by in search of a book not kept in his study. As the days passed, he was forced to admit to himself that he was falling in love with a man who had no interest in loving him back.

Truly, it was a blessing as much as it was a curse. As much as Meredith longed to be closer to John, he knew how utterly disastrous it would be if John found out his secret. The Duke surely would never accept the deception, and Meredith would find himself sent home in utter disgrace, having failed to save his sister from an even more painful, even less wanted marriage.

The only bright spots in his days were the hours he spent with Jacob. The boy was a delight, bright and inquisitive, and Meredith quickly got over his awkwardness. They spent time in the library, reading book after book, and Mer answered Jacob’s questions with as much detail as he could. Once in a while, he would overhear Jacob talking to his father about the wondrous lands in this book, or the amazing tales in that book, and the sound of John’s deep laughter mixing with Jacob’s youthful giggles made him smile sadly.

Finally, though, even the time spent with Jacob wasn’t enough to offset Meredith’s unhappiness. He wasn’t sleeping well, he wasn’t hungry, and he couldn’t seem to dredge up the energy to do much at all other than sit and read. Sometimes, even books offered him no respite. He couldn’t stay at Pegasus house, couldn’t bear to continue as he had been. There had to be another way to salvage the McKay family name, some other way to refill depleted coffers and rebuild his father’s pride and honour, some other way to save Jeannie from being chained to Acastas Kolya. There had to be another way, and he would simply have to find it.

With only a small traveling bag, he set out the next afternoon after his reading time with Jacob. It had taken all of his willpower to smile at the boy and send him off to play. The rain pouring from a dark, cloudy sky seemed an oddly appropriate companion as he made his way along the muddy paths that wound through the woodlands between Pegasus House and the nearby town.

***

John drummed his fingers on the table and frowned as he glanced at the clock above the fireplace. Meredith knew by now what time supper was served every evening, and it wasn’t like her to be tardy. He’d found that he was coming to enjoy the company of his unwanted wife, and so had begin to make a point of eating the evening meal with her every night.

Reaching for his brandy, John tossed back half the glass before glancing towards the doorway again. Where was she? “Bates!” He raised his voice to call his butler, and the man appeared almost instantly. “Please go inform my wife that it is time for the evening meal.”

With a stiff inclination of his head, Bates withdrew, and John returned to drumming his fingers idly on the table. As time passed and neither Bates nor Meredith appeared, he began to get annoyed. “What the hell is going on?” he growled to himself, pushing to his feet. Before he could get any further then the hallway, Bates came hurrying from the direction of the kitchen.

“Your Grace, I’m afraid the Duchess is nowhere to be found,” the taciturn man reported. “One of the kitchen girls said she saw her leaving the house, but that was many hours ago.”

John blinked at the news, and then glanced out the nearest window as a loud boom of thunder rolled across the dark sky. He swallowed, a burst of sudden fear spreading through his chest, and then turned to stride for his room to fetch his heavy coat. “Have my horse readied, Bates,” he ordered. He had no idea what his wife was up to, but he was going to find her and bring her home.

***

As late afternoon turned to evening, Meredith had to admit that he was lost. There were only a few forks in the road, but the road itself was hard to see in the driving rain, and Mer was sure he must have made a wrong turn somewhere along the way. It hadn’t taken him this long to get to Pegasus House, had it?

He pulled his sopping cloak closer around his shoulders and hunched forward to keep the wind and wet from beating against his face. His nose and cheeks were all but numb, his hands and feet and hair were soaked, and he was shivering so hard that his teeth were clicking together. His jaw ached from trying to keep them still. And on top of it all, the cold that had finally gone away was back with a vengeance, and he was feeling increasingly ill and miserable.

It was nearly fully dark when he heard, over the sound of the storm, the drumming of a horse’s hooves on the road. Slipping in the mud, he scrambled to the roadside, hoping to duck into the tree line and avoid being seen, but he couldn’t move fast enough. He heard the rider call his horse to halt, heard the animal snort and blow as it slowed to a stop, and then heard the thud of boots hitting the ground, even as he kept trying to make his way into the trees.

“Meredith! _Meredith_!” It was John; of that there was no question. Mer knew that voice, even over the roar of the wind and rain. He stopped, his back still to his husband, and bent his head forward in defeat.

A strong hand, gloved in black leather, curled around his upper arm and tugged to turn him. “ _Mer_ edith! Dear God, what are you doing?” John sounded… he sounded _worried_.

Meredith let himself be turned, and lifted his head to meet John’s gaze, tilting his chin up and trying to muster an air of defiance. “I’m leaving,” he said, nearly shouting to be heard. “I’m going home. I never should have come. I… I’ll give you a quiet annulment. We’ve not consummated the marriage, so it should be a fairly simple matter.”

John stared at him in shock, wide-eyed, and then his brows drew together in confusion. “Annulment? Leaving? Meredith, what nonsense is this? You’re my _wife_. You can’t just… you’re not just going to leave.”

Meredith steeled himself against the faintly lost look – surely he was just imagining it – in John’s eyes. “I certainly can. I’m not wanted at Pegasus House, and I can’t stay another day. I don’t belong there. I’m not your wife. I’m just a… a convenience, someone to take your name and a courtesy title, be a socially acceptable companion on your arm and a glorified nanny for your son. You don’t want _me_ , and… and…” He ran out of steam as his body betrayed him, and a trio of strong sneezes bent him forward. “Oh, curse it all! I want to go _home_.”

John found he could only continue to stare as Meredith ranted at him, and every word hit home painfully, slicing through the air like a well-edged blade, slicing through John’s carefully constructed walls with equal ease. _Not your wife. Not wanted. Don’t want me._ He felt his spine straightening as if to bear up under the weight of Meredith’s pain, and felt the chill of guilt churn in his belly.

“Meredith… you _are_ wanted. I… Jacob adores you, and you _are_ my wife. Come on, let me take you back home, out of this weather, and we’ll…” The word stuck in his throat, but he forced it out. “Talk about all of this.”

 _I am **not** going to cry_ , Meredith told himself as he straightened, looking up at John through a sheen of tears that, thankfully, were indistinguishable from the pouring rain. “There isn’t anything to discuss, Your Grace,” he said, trying to keep his voice sure and steady. “Pegasus House isn’t my home, and I will not go back there. Please let go of me, and I’ll be on my way.”

John’s jaw tightened as worry – _fear_ – began to turn to anger. “Nonsense!” he snapped, his voice taking on a hard edge, ‘The Duke’ stepping up in place of ‘John’ and giving orders that he expected would be obeyed without question. “You are my wife, the Duchess of Lantea, and I am your husband. I _won’t_ stand for your disobedience! You’re coming home with me, and there’ll be no more discussion about it!”

Meredith’s eyes widened in shock, and then in fear. He’d never seen John angry, not like this. The Duke could be an intimidating presence, and the fury sparking in his eyes made Meredith’s blood run cold. Fear, however, was not enough to over-ride the misery of the past weeks, and exhaustion and illness made him reckless. With a heave and a twist, he pulled his arm free and stumbled back a step. “I will _not_ go with you! Unhand me and let me be!”

John’s eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, narrowed to chips of jade, and the next thing Meredith knew, he was belly down over Atlantis’ saddle as John gathered up the reins to lead the tall horse along the sloppy, muddy road. His shouts of protest were ignored, and Meredith wasn’t quite reckless enough to try to slide from the saddle.

Angry words gradually gave way to pleading, and when Meredith stopped talking to sneeze, several times in rapid succession, John did pause long enough to hand him a handkerchief. The expression on John’s face, however, was enough to keep Meredith from restarting their argument, and the trek continued in silence punctuated only by the wet clop-clop of Atlantis’ hooves and the helpless sound of Meredith’s sneezes.

***

By the time John drew Atlantis to a halt, Meredith was half-dozing. He lifted his head, peering through wet and dripping hair, to see not the front gates of John’s family estate but the front door of the inn in town. Before he could voice a question, John was helping him down, hands gentle despite the man’s still-obvious anger. Mer bit his tongue and kept himself quiet as John negotiated a room for the evening. Fortunately, the innkeeper didn’t recognize His Grace in wet, muddy riding clothes, so there was no fuss as they were shown quietly to a small, cozy space with a fireplace and a bed that would barely be large enough for them both.

Only after the door was closed and locked behind the innkeeper did John speak to his errant wife. “Get out of those wet clothes, Meredith. You’ve already caught cold again; you’ll catch worse if you don’t get warm and dry.”

“I’m f-f-fine, Y-your Grace,” Meredith chattered out, shivering harder in the warmth from the fireplace. “I ha-haven’t any d-dry clothes to w-wear.”

John’s jaw tightened when he again met with stubborn resistance, and he had to force himself not to snap again, had to remind himself that his wife was cold, wet and miserable, and that his first concern was to get her warm, dry and comfortable. “Surely you packed a night dress in that handbag,” he said in a carefully even tone. “Even if it isn’t dry, it’ll be better than what you have on. Come on then.”

He gestured for Meredith to begin, and his frown darkened when his wife hesitated, clutching at the ruined cloak around her shaking shoulders. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m your husband. Were things different, I would have seen you unclothed on our wedding night. Now get out of those wet clothes!”

Meredith blinked owlishly at him, twice. Then she ducked her head and shrugged off the cloak, laying it on the hearth in hopes of it drying. John sighed and turned to open her traveling bag, giving her at least some measure of privacy. He carefully withdrew a long night dress from the bag, mostly dry and certainly warmer than soggy traveling clothes, and turned to offer it to his wife.

His wife… who had unbuttoned the front of her dress and was peeling the heavy, wet material off, revealing an equally wet chemise and slender shoulders. He froze in place, swallowing hard, as an unexpected bloom of heat blossomed low in his belly. He must have made some sound, because Meredith looked up and froze as well, staring at him like a frightened doe for a moment before ducking her head and continuing to undress.

John kept himself to the other side of the room, but he couldn’t keep from watching as the layers of Meredith’s clothing came off. All of the heavy skirts and petticoats gave way to a tightly-laced corset, the thin chemise, bloomers and stockings. John’s mouth went dry, and Meredith’s shoulders went even more tense.

The stockings came off next, just as soaked as everything else, and then Meredith began to unfasten the corset. Her fingers fumbled with the laces and hooks, and John found himself holding his breath as she peeled the heavily boned brocade away.

With only the chemise and bloomers left, Meredith straightened and swallowed hard. Unbound by the corset, he knew he no longer looked completely the part he’d been playing. He forced himself to meet John’s gaze, and saw the exact moment when John realized what his ‘wife’ had been hiding all along. It sent a bolt of pain through him, and he ducked his head again, unable to bear the disgust on John’s face.

“You… you… dear _God_. You’re not a woman?” John’s voice was choked and low, and Meredith fought the urge to back away. “You’re a _boy_?”

“I… I’m n-nineteen,” Meredith stammered in reply. “N-not a boy…” That was hardly the point, but he had no idea what else to say.

“Dear God,” John breathed again, just staring at his wife in utter shock. “No wonder I… no wonder.”

He left the thought uncompleted, but Meredith heard it loud and clear. _No wonder I haven’t wanted her. No wonder I haven’t wanted to take her to bed. She’s not really ‘she’._ He swallowed back the lump in his throat and reached one shaking hand for the mostly dry night dress still hanging loosely from John’s fingers. “Please, Your Grace,” he whispered. “I… I’m sorry. Please let me get dressed.”

John handed the night dress over without a word, too stunned to form a coherent reply. He couldn’t take his eyes off Meredith’s slender body, couldn’t help the heat in his belly or the swell of arousal in his groin. A man… Meredith was a man. No wonder he had felt such a strong attraction.

He finally tore his eyes away and turned to let Meredith strip down and redress in the night dress without the weight of his heavy gaze. He needed a few moments to get himself under control, and it was a welcome excuse to hide the bulge in his trousers as he tried to will it away. When Meredith coughed softly behind him, he drew in a steadying breath and turned to face her – him – again.

“You should rest,” he heard himself saying as he tried hard not to stare. “You’ll take the bed, of course, and I’ll sleep in the chair. In the morning… in the morning we’ll discuss this, and then we’ll go home.”

Meredith swallowed back a protest, and simply nodded without meeting the Duke’s gaze. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “I… I’m sorry. So very sorry.” Afraid that he was going to humiliate himself further by bursting into tears, Meredith quickly climbed under the quilts on the small bed and turned to his side, hiding his face from view.

He heard John moving about behind him, heard the rustle of cloth as he shed his outermost garments, heard the huffs of breath as he blew out the lamps and plunged the room into near darkness. The chair creaked as John settled into it, and his long, deep sigh was nearly thunderous in the comparative silence.

“Good night, Meredith,” John called quietly, and Mer squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that he was only imagining the gentleness in the Duke’s soft voice.

“Good night, Your Grace,” he whispered in return, not trusting his voice. “I’m sorry.”

John didn’t answer, and after a while – a long while – Meredith heard his breathing settle into the slow, measured cadence of sleep. Staring into the flickering flames in the fireplace, Meredith spent a sleepless night mourning what he had lost.

***

John groaned as light sliced through the windows to fall across his face. Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, he opened his eyes, hands coming up to rub at his face. “Christ,” he muttered, as his back complained painfully. He was too old to spend the night sitting in a chair.

He sat up straighter as he remembered _why_ he had spent the night in a chair, and his gaze snapped towards the other side of the room… only to find the narrow bed empty. John blinked, confused, and glanced around the room. He growled a curse and pushed to his feet as he noticed that Meredith’s travel bag was gone, as well. His wife had run off on him again, damn it.

When he got her home, he was going to tie her to the bed. No… tie _him_ to the bed. The sudden flare of heat in his gut almost made John’s knees buckle as he vividly pictured pinning his wayward wife down, imagined covering Meredith’s body with his own. Dear God, but he wanted his wife. He had been a fool to ignore Meredith for so long; he realized that now. If he was honest with himself, even before last night, even before he discovered that his wife was really a man, he had wanted her. Him. _Meredith_.

Swallowing hard, John reined in on his libido. First, he had to _find_ Meredith. He caught up his coat and shrugged into it, taking the stairs two at a time in his hurry. Meredith couldn’t have gotten that much of a head start, he told himself. He’d find him. He had to find him. Returning home without Meredith was no longer an option.

***

  
It didn’t take John long at all to catch up to Meredith. Atlantis was a sure-footed horse, even on the wrecked roads, and poor Meredith was on foot, in the same wet clothes he had been wearing the night before. John spurred Atlantis forward when he spotted the hunched figure making its way slowly through the still-falling rain, and when he drew up beside Meredith she – he – didn’t even try to run.

“This is becoming a habit,” John said quietly as he stepped up beside his wife. “I believe I told you that we would discuss things in the morning. I’m fairly certain that ‘discussing things’ does not involve you slipping out on me again.”

Meredith was exhausted, cold, and even more miserable than he’d been the night before. When he looked up, his eyes were fever-bright, and his nose was red and puffy from the sneezes that always plagued him when he caught cold. The sight made John’s breath hitch, and he reached for his wife to draw her – him, damn it, _him_ – closer. “Good God, Meredith. You’re frozen right through. Come on. Back home with you. You need a hot bath and some of Samantha’s tea.”

It would be so easy to just give in, Meredith thought, so easy to just let John take him back. He was so tired, so cold. He ached all over, and every sneeze made his head pound and threaten to split open. But he couldn’t go back there. He wasn’t the wife John thought he was. He wasn’t a _wife_ at all, but a man masquerading as one. He tried to pull away, tried to step back, but the road tilted under his feet and the world swayed and swirled around him.

He was distantly aware of John calling his name, of John’s strong arms encircling him and holding him as his knees buckled, but his vision was going grey and everything sounded like it was very, very far away. A soft, thick darkness closed around him, and everything else disappeared.

***

Meredith drifted in and out of sleep for several days. The soft sound of concerned voices filtered through his fevered dreams, and he imagined that John was with him, holding his hand, helping him to drink bitter medicine, helping him to drink water and broth and tea.

When he finally woke with some amount of lucidity, the room was dim with the shadows of late afternoon, lit only by the fireplace and a single oil lamp on the night stand. He felt tired, so tired, which didn’t seem to make any sense because clearly he’d just been sleeping. His mouth tasted bitter, and his head felt stuffed with cotton. Ah… he’d been ill, then.

With a sudden rush, memory came flooding back, and Meredith closed his eyes against the wrench of cold pain in his chest. John knew, John _knew_ , and what was Meredith going to do _now_?

He swallowed – oh, his throat hurt – and opened his eyes again as a soft sound caught his attention. He heard it again, and turned his head to see John, himself, sitting in a wingback chair, sound asleep with his head tipped back and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked wrung out, with dark circles under his eyes, and he hadn’t shaved in several days. The dark shadow of his beard made him look somehow less noble and more… ordinary.

As if feeling the weight of Meredith’s gaze, John came slowly awake. Jade green eyes blinked sleepily and then focused on Meredith. When he realized that Mer’s eyes were open, too, he was out of the chair and at the bedside in a flash.

“You’re awake! Thank God. How do you feel?” John reached for his hand, stopped himself, and then blew out a breath and curled his fingers around Meredith’s. “God, I’ve been so damn worried.”

Meredith blinked in surprise, startled speechless for a long moment. “You… have?” he rasped, and then winced at the awful croak of his own voice.

“Of course I have.” John dragged his other hand through his hair, making it stand up even more, and then knuckled at his bloodshot eyes. “It’s been four days, and you’ve been all but delirious with a fever. Do you remember any of it?”

A fever? “I… um. A little?” Meredith swallowed again, and licked at his fever-dry lips. “I remember hearing your voice.”

John’s fingers tightened, curling more closely around Mer’s, and he reached to stroke back the blond curls at his temple. “I was reading to you,” he admitted softly. “Jacob said it might make you feel better, since it always makes him feel better when you read to him. He’s been terribly worried about you, too.”

Meredith sucked on his lower lip, his brow furrowing. “I’m sorry that I worried him. And that I worried you. I, um… I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me. I’ll find some way to repay you, of course.”

John blinked in confusion, and then shook his head. “Meredith… Mer, you don’t have to pay me back. You’re my wife. Of course I’ve taken care of you.” He touched a finger to Mer’s lips when they parted as if to argue, and gave his wife a small, almost shy smile. “Let me finish. It’s not often that I do this, so it’s best to not interrupt.”

Mer sucked on his lower lip again, but stayed silent, and John gave a little nod before continuing.

“I owe you an apology, actually,” he began. His gaze dropped to where their fingers were curled together, and he gave another little smile. “At the inn, when I saw you… I’m afraid I didn’t react very well. I was stunned, to say the least, and… and at the same time relieved to have an answer to why I’ve been feeling so drawn to you, attracted to you, right from the start.”

Meredith’s eyes widened, but John continued before he could say anything. “I kept my distance because I didn’t want to become… attached to you. Emotionally, physically… my first wife died in childbirth, and I was determined not to get you pregnant. Odd, really, since there was clearly no chance of that happening.” He glanced up for a moment, and there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “When I realized that I… that being around you aroused me, _strongly_ aroused me, I had to keep my distance. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my hands off you, and… and I was confused. You see, I… truly prefer the company of men to women, in my bed, and I couldn’t understand why being around you was making me feel so…”

Meredith’s eyes got wider and wider, and by the time John stumbled to a stop he was staring in utter shock. “You… you mean, you… I… we…”

John’s eyebrows rose in amusement, and one corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You I we what? What I mean, Meredith, is that your secret is actually the answer to a very awkward situation. That is, assuming that you… feel the same way, and want to stay here with Jacob and me.”

“Feel the same way? I… I don’t… do you mean do I prefer men?” Meredith was still somewhat shell-shocked, trying to wrap his still-muddled mind around what John had told him. “Yes, I… _yes_ , but… I, I deceived you, I…”

John shook his head and touched a finger to Meredith’s lips again. “Hush. You did what you thought you had to do. You spoke of it in your sleep, when your fever was so high. Your sister, your father… I know why you did it, Mer. If it’ll ease your mind, I forgive you, though I don’t think there’s really anything to forgive.”

Meredith licked his lips again, feeling the flare of hope in his chest. “Then you… you want me to stay, want to stay married to me, even though I… even though I’m not really a woman?”

John chuckled and nodded. “ _Because_ you’re not really a woman, darling. If you’re willing to play the part for others, then I… that is, do you...” He stumbled to a stop again, and looked down at his hand, twined with his wife’s. “I’ve come to care about you a great deal, Mer. I don’t know if this is lo… l-love, but I think it can _become_ …”

“I want to stay,” Meredith whispered in reply, and for the first time in weeks a genuine smile pulled at his lips. “I want to stay. I’ve been falling in love with you from the start. John…”

The smile that spread across John’s face chased away any lingering doubt, and Meredith lifted both arms to slip around his shoulders as John bent over him and ducked his head. Blue eyes met green for a long, long moment, and then slipped closed as John leaned in the last little bit and their lips came together at last in a soft, slow, sweet kiss.

***

Dear Father,

I hope this letter finds you feeling much better. Jeannie wrote that you were recovering quickly under Doctor Beckett’s care.

All is well here at Pegasus House. The rain has finally passed and I think spring is here to stay at last.

Young Lord Jacob has just turned six, as you know, and His Grace put together quite a celebration for the occasion. I doubt I shall soon forget the sight of my Lord Husband dressed as a common groomsman, leading a blood bay pony from the stables. Jacob was utterly delighted with his gift. He’s quite an accomplished horseman for one so young.

I am truly happy here, now, Father, and I pray that you will someday find it in your heart to accept what I have done. I miss you and Jeannie, and I look forward to having you up to Pegasus House someday. In the meantime, please use the enclosed money to continue to pay for Jeannie’s education. It is for you and for her that I have done this, Father, but it is for myself that I stay.

Be well.

Lady Meredith Sheppard, Duchess Lantea  


The Duke and Duchess at Christmas


End file.
